Suspicions
by Kinomi
Summary: Kuririn's POV on his suspicions his daughter is keeping secrets. And what a secret it is. Reading and Reviewing appreciated, this fic is short, sweet, and funny. With an unusual pairing at the end.


Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ but if you think I do might I interest you in a bridge I want to sell….?

**Suspicions**

By Kinomi

           She was keeping secrets from me.

           The thought was as disturbing to me as the time Bulma informed us all that Vegeta on occasion wore fuzzy pink bunny slippers around the house. You just don't want to think about it, y'know? I didn't want to believe that the light of my life, my precious daughter Marron, would ever see me as someone she couldn't confide in. It was so easy to look at her and see the sweet, chubby toddler who thought the sun rose and set on me. But the lovely young girl who told me everything had vanished into a mysterious teenager who often wouldn't meet my eyes. 

           Too much freedom, I think. Bulma had given her an aircar for her sixteenth birthday. I know that it was only one Bulma's old cars, but Marron had been delighted. She had a way off the island now. I could see the elation in her eyes and it made my heart sink. Part of me wants to keep her here, on the island with us forever. I don't want to lose my little girl.

           "She has to grow up sometime, Kuririn. You can't keep her a baby forever." My wife told me, in that same dry tone. I didn't take offense, for I knew none was intended. If I took offense every time my wife said something scathing I'd have left her years ago. No, I couldn't argue with her, but I don't have to like what was happening to my Marron.

           She's turning into someone I don't know anymore.

           At first it was little things. She would be late coming home. She drove herself to school now that she had Bulma's old car and she would arrive home moments before dinner bright eyed, even though school had been out for hours. "Where have you been?" I'd ask her. And always the same answer.

           "Nowhere special, Papa. I finished my homework at the library." And I believed her, as I always had. Because my Marron would never lie to me. 

           There were other small changes in her too. Like wanting her own phone line in her bedroom. "Really, Papa!" She'd flounced exasperated with my reticence. "All the girls my age have their own phone." Still I couldn't help but wonder who she had to call that she needed privacy for?

           "Really Kuririn," my wife told me later, sounding far too much like our daughter for my taste. "She probably has a boyfriend. Do you really want her on the phone all day making those disgusting gooey noises at some boy where we have to listen to it?" I paled. Well, no…I couldn't say that I did. But my reluctance was more not wanting to think that my daughter would replace me in her life with some…boy.

One day I asked her, on the rare occasion that I passed her bedroom and the door wasn't shut to keep us all out of her life. She lay on her stomach on her bed reading a book in cut off jeans and one of those little tee shirts that looked like they were meant for a doll when I took them out of the dryer.

           "Hi honey, what are you reading?" I asked from the doorway. Teenaged girls are a minefield best tread upon lightly. If you don't believe me I have only one word to say. Bulma. I rest my case.

           Her dark blue eyes flashed up to mine briefly. "Dickens." She told me, turning back to her book. Her legs were bent; ankles crossed as she swung her legs back and forth like a pendulum. Or more like a cat flicking it's tail in irritation.

           "Oh," I said lamely, "is it for school?" I edged into the room even though I hadn't been invited. Again her eyes flicked up to mine as her legs swung.

           "Nope."

           I have a theory that the older my daughter gets, the fewer words she uses in a sentence to me. We've now made it all the way down to monosyllabic responses.

           "So how is school?" I ask, hoping that she'll put down her book, smile at me and really talk to me like she used to. She doesn't even look up this time.

           "Fine."

           "That's good…" I mumble, scratching the back of my head - one of my nervous habits. When did I become nervous around my own daughter? "So, um…" I said, trying to keep our conversation – such as it was – going.  Again with the look, as though my presence were something she suffered. 

           "What?" Swish, swish, went her legs…definitely like an annoyed cat. I kept my cool, after all…I'd faced Saiyans, and Frieza, and Cell…I could handle a teenaged girl for Heaven's sake.

           "Well honey, we never talk anymore. I have no idea what's going on in your life." I say in my most diplomatic tone. She stares at me long and hard, calculating. It was her mother's look, as if she were evaluating whether to answer the question or just reduce you to a smoking pile of ash. And people wonder why I never taught my daughter martial arts? What do they think I am? Stupid?

           "What do you want to know?" She asks suspiciously. Praise Dende, I got six whole words in a row out of her. I sat down on her desk chair and her eyes narrow. Minus ten points for me.

           "Oh I don't know honey…you said school was fine, but what other things do you like to do? You come home so late after school, what do you do?" I ask her casually.

           "Hang out with my friends sometimes." She offered with a shrug, her eyes back in her book.

           "Where do you go?" 

           "No place special." She says. This is going nowhere, but I can't think of how to ask what I am most curious about until my eyes light on her phone.

           "Who are you always talking to on the phone then?" Her legs stop swinging and she puts her finger in the spine of her book, marking her place as she turns those deadly blue orbs on me. Her eyes are much darker than her mother's, but just as icy as she stares at me.

           "A friend." She tells me, but her voice tells me more. It has dropped into a register as cold and distrustful as her eyes. Oh to see my baby girl look at me as though I were an enemy just breaks my heart.

           "A boyfriend?" I plunge ahead. No pain, no gain Kame-sennin has always taught me. That and choose your battles wisely…

           "Maybe." She says, eyes lowering and roses blooming on her cheeks. I shot an arrow into the sky, not knowing I was going to hit a bull's eye.  And hit on a sensitive subject too obviously as she fidgets, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger. I am oddly relieved that it is just a crush she has, and not more serious problems like drugs or other things that can keep a parent up nights. I try to be supportive.

           "Well tell me about him, honey. How old is he? What's his name? Would you like to invite him to dinner?"

           I think I ask one question too many as she looks like a little volcano about to erupt all over me. Her face is redder than a tomato and I have this sudden overpowering urge to flee.

           "Why do you always have to interrogate me? It's none of your business! It's just a friend all right? Jeez!" She shrieks loudly, hopping up from her bed to stomp out of the room and into the bathroom. Slamming the door behind her.

           That could have gone better.

           She is even more withdrawn at dinner, not meeting my eyes. Not contributing to the conversation, and she escapes to her room at the earliest opportunity. The door shutting has the ring of finality to it, as if I may never pass by and see it open to me again.

           "I told you…" My wife tells me. Yes, I should have listened.

           The days pass with an alarming sameness that brings me to the inevitable conclusion. She is keeping secrets, and I am losing her. Her moodiness has no effect on my wife, in fact the two seem to get along better than ever as they have this annoying ability to be in the same room without speaking to each other indefinitely. I, on the other hand cannot live with these tense, resentful silences. My daughter's eyes grow more hostile with every attempt I make to breach the wall she is building around herself, keeping us out.

           "Can't you just leave me alone?" She snaps at me one night before her bedroom door slams in my face. It is becoming the music of my life.

           I question myself. What am I doing wrong? Why does she turn from me? I have never been strict with her, never punished her excessively.

           "You're too protective." My wife informs me. This is news to me. But I decide to back off and see if she's right.

           I watch with helpless eyes as Marron goes about her business unfettered. Bounding off on Friday nights to be with her friends wearing outfits that make my blood pressure skyrocket.  "Remember your curfew!" I call after her, unable to help myself. Earning a glare from my daughter and a pitying shake of my wife's head.

           After the third time she comes rolling in hours after I told her to be home I figure I've had enough. Sitting on the couch in the dark staring at the door waiting for her to come home has not improved my mood. Imagining every disaster that could have befallen her. She slips in the door on cat like feet, her shoes in her hand as she tiptoes to the stairs.

           "And just where have you been, young lady?" I ask, switching on a light. Her eyes widen slightly at the expression on my face. It is obvious I am NOT pleased.

           "What are you still doing up, Papa?" She asks me sweetly. I have not heard such a civil tone from her in months. Her eyes are bright and her face flushed. I don't let it deter me.

           "Waiting for you. Your curfew is midnight, young lady. I expect you to answer my question. Where have you been?" I ask sternly, folding my arms across my chest. No more Mr. Nice Guy, no more sympathetic non-threatening compassionate father. This is my house (sorta) and I am the head of our family, by God. No seventeen-year-old girl is going to dictate how I run my house. Damn straight.

           I expect hostility, I expect a battle…to be honest I almost expect tears. Instead my daughter smiles at me, like a ray of sunshine in the dark. "I'm so sorry Papa. I was having such a wonderful time…I just lost track of it. I promise it won't happen again." She says, drifting over to me and giving me a kiss on the forehead. "Goodnight Papa, I love you." Her voice is bubbling over with happiness as she twirls across the room toward the stairs. "I love you too, Mama." She tells my wife, who has come to the head of the stairs to watch us, her arms folded under her breasts. "I love everything!" My daughter laughs, darting up the stairs humming, pausing to kiss her mother's cheek before disappearing into her room. My wife's eyebrows reach new altitudes as her eyes meet mine. Who was that girl?

           It isn't until it's too late I remember I meant to ground her. Damn.

           I have limited success the next morning. "You never answered my question last night Marron. Where were you that you couldn't meet your curfew or even call?" I demand over breakfast. I am irritable and haven't slept well, wondering about this very thing.

           "Hmmm?" She queries with a dazzling smile. "Oh, I was at a friend's house watching movies Papa and lost track of time. I told you. In fact I think my watch may be broken." She informs me, holding out her delicate wrist.  Sure enough her watch has stopped. Her eyes are as innocent as they have ever been. I am skeptical, but with no solid evidence I have no choice but to let it slide with a warning. Some big tough Dad I am. I get her watch fixed.

           "No more excuses Marron. I expect you home on time. And I want you to call me from now on and let me know where you are. Do we understand each other?" I tell her. 

           "Is my leash that short now?" She snaps at me, her eyes like twin gas flames. Her exuberance twisted to animosity in a heartbeat.

           "Don't push me, young lady." I warn. This time her eyes lower first.

           "Sheesh! I was just kidding. Sure, Papa…whatever you say."  She agrees readily. Too readily I think.

           She is the model of good behavior…for two weeks. Two weeks that reminded me what a delightful and charming child I fathered, before she turns back into the she-devil. She forgets to call and tell me where she is after school. She pushes the envelope of her curfew time and time again, spawning spectacular fights between us. Her favorite chestnut – no pun intended – to throw in my face is that when Bulma was her age she was allowed to go and hunt Dragonballs all over the world completely alone. Nobody gave Bulma a curfew, or made her call home every two seconds. This latter being screamed at me through her locked bedroom door.

           "I don't care what Bulma did. Bulma's NOT MY DAUGHTER!" I roar back, resisting the urge to thank Kami out loud for _that_ small favor. I hear her shriek her rage in an inarticulate howl behind the door. "And you can stay in there until you can learn to behave yourself!" I yell.

           I stalk back down the hall grinding my teeth. "Not a word!" I bark at my wife on the way by. She says nothing, but I see that one eyebrow lift. And it says volumes.

Things deteriorate rapidly. She is hostile. I am impatient. I threaten. She challenges me. I ground her. She screams. Nothing I do is right, and I cannot win this war. The house is a divided camp between my daughter and myself, the other occupants just trying to stay the hell out of our way.  I hope my wife will help breach the ever-widening gap between my daughter and myself. She is neutral, like an impartial foreign country. But instead of making peace she invites her brother over and they watch my daughter and I argue like it was championship tennis. No help there.

           I take away her phone. She tells me she hates me. Like I didn't see that coming? And still, I long for the smiling child she was. I despair of ever seeing her look on me with loving eyes again. 

           "All teenagers hate their parents." My brother in law says with authority. I want to ask where he comes by this pearl of wisdom, but my wife's glare holds my tongue. I realize it is up to me to find out why my daughter has become a stranger. I think long and hard on the subject, even meditate, and I come to the conclusion that it must be the company she keeps. 

           Well it certainly can't be me, right?

           She is off her latest restriction for only two days before she breaks her curfew again. This is getting old.

           I ask where she goes. I am met with silence. I ask who she sees. I am met with sarcasm. I am sorely tempted to violence, but thankfully my wife is all too willing to spar and beat that urge right out of me. Remember why I said I never trained Marron?

           "Whoever this boy is that you're seeing I want to meet him." I demand one night that she is late again. "I think he's a bad influence on you."

           She laughs. I fail to find the humor in the situation. "I'm not seeing anyone. I just spend time with my friends." She tells me, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

           "Who? I want names. I want to meet your friends." 

           Her look of disgusted alarm is almost worth it. At last I have found the chink in the wall. 

           "No way!" She squeals. 

           "Why not?" I challenge. Her eyes shift, I don't believe that she isn't seeing someone. My suspicion she is keeping secrets grows.

           "You'd embarrass me." She admits finally, but it is a cop out. I know it. I play my trump card.

           "No friends. No car." I say simply. Her look of abject horror is brief, but I see it. I hit her where she lives with that one. Minus a billion points for me, but a father has to do what he has to do.

           Two days later I am presented with a pink haired girl in black clothes that my daughter introduces as Kari, her very best friend in the world. 

           Right. Does she think I'm stupid? Apparently so.

           Kari is as flighty and evasive as my daughter. And I am left with more questions than answers.

           When her friend leaves she disappears into her room again, back on her recently returned phone. If Kari was her very best friend in the world then whom does she have to call so soon after she leaves? I stand outside her bedroom door trying to listen to her conversation over the music blaring out of her stereo. I have no shame.

           "Want me to get you a water glass?" My wife offers in her usual dry acerbic manner. It takes me a minute to decide if she's serious or not.

           My daughter yanks open her bedroom door, phone still in hand to scowl at us. "Are you listening at my door?" She demands and I wonder how she even knows we are there, let alone how she carries on a phone conversation considering the volume of her music. My wife points at me.

           "Who are you talking to?" I demand. Her face screws up into a little fist as she glares at me. My wife drifts away down the hall, chuckling to herself.

           "That's WHOM," she corrects me. "And it's none of your business so stop being so nosy!" She shouts and starts to slam the door in my face. I block it with my foot. Remind me not to do that again. It hurts. I hobble down the hall after my wife muttering to myself. I never used to mutter to myself.

Later that night and an ice pack later, my foot is throbbing and I am again going without sleep. My wife is in a state of shut down that resembles sleep and will not awake until morning so I find no harbor there from the hurricane of my emotions. I am trying to think of what it was that I've done to bring about the karma of dealing with a teenaged girl when I hear the soft creak of her bedroom door opening. Curious, I sit up and look at the clock. Midnight. On a school night. Not cool.

           I want to give her the benefit of the doubt that she is just going downstairs for a snack. But I know better, even as I hear the stealthy sound of the front door being opened. I spring out of bed right onto my sore foot and curse a blue streak under my breath. I look back over my shoulder and see that my wife's eyes are open, watching me.

           "Well," she says, "don't just stand there. Follow her."

           Her taillights are dwindling in the distance by the time I throw something on and fly after her. I follow at a discreet distance, entertaining myself with what kind of punishments she's going to receive for running off in the middle of the night. Then it occurs to me that perhaps she's running away. The thought is sobering and I decide to just follow and see what she's about. To know and understand just what is so damn important in her life now. She won't tell me, so I figure I'll let her show me.

           She drives all the way to Satan City, where she goes to school. I see her heading toward the other side of town though and have to fly directly above her so I don't lose her. At the end of a wooded cul-de-sac at the edge of a canyon Marron parks her car outside a white apartment building. The trees here are lush and green, you can tell even at night. I am more grateful they are there for concealment as I land behind one. Marron doesn't see me; she is busy lifting a suitcase out of the trunk of her car. I was right. She's running away. The thought pains me deeply, that I have let our conflicts lead to the point where my daughter wants to flee me.

           The suitcase appears heavy as she hustles it up the narrow iron staircase to the upstairs apartment. The lights are still on inside. She knocks and waits, glancing around behind her so I duck behind the tree out of sight again. Unfortunately, that means I miss whoever is in the apartment, for when I look back my daughter has gone inside and the door is swinging shut. Double damn.

           It's a hot night for late spring and I am glad of it as I discover the apartment has a small balcony. The occupant has left the sliding glass door wide open and the sheers closed. Perfect.

           I stand on the balcony out of sight and wait. I'll wait to catch her with her boyfriend and then I'll kill him and ground her until she's forty. Sounds like a plan. I peek through a crack in the sheers and see my daughter sitting forlornly on the couch near her suitcase. She is crying quietly. Despite my anger with her, the father in me hates to see my baby cry. And she will always be my baby. Before I can reveal myself and go to comfort her, a dark haired man comes out of the doorway to the left with a cup of tea. He sits down directly on the coffee table before Marron and hands her the tea. He sits there so he can look into her eyes and comfort her I know, but my eyes can't get past how my daughter's legs are between his spread ones as she takes the tea from him. He rests his hands on her knees with a casual familiarity as she thanks him. Like he has rights to lay his hands on my child.

           I am about to storm in when he turns his head slightly and I see his profile. I pause in confusion to see an all too familiar scarred visage. Yamucha? More confused than ever I wait to see what will happen.

           Marron sips her tea quietly and I can see the tears still running down her face. "I'm sorry," she whispers, "I know I shouldn't have come." 

           "It's all right," he soothes, stroking her hair back away from her face. Just as I would do for her. "Tell me what happened."

           "You know what happened when I brought Kari over. I told you on the phone. He didn't believe me; he gave her the third degree. And then after I hung up with you, I caught he and Mama in the hall outside my room eavesdropping." She told him, her breath hitching. With the sliding glass door open it's like being in the room with them. I feel a twinge of guilt, but nothing so bad it would make me leave this balcony and miss finding out what my daughter really thinks and feels.

           "I'm sure he wasn't." Yamucha tells her gently. But my daughter shakes her head emphatically, setting her tea aside.

           "He was! And then he started in again. Whom was I talking to, wanting to know every single detail of my life! I hate that! Why can't he just leave me alone?" She wails, crying again. Yamucha touches her hair, her face. I'm not sure I care for how much he's handling my daughter, but he seems to have more luck calming her down than I would have.

           "Because he loves you, Marron. He's your father. He's concerned about you, wouldn't you be worried if it were your daughter doing the same things?" He asks her. Go Yamucha! Finally someone was on my side. I'd have to remember to thank him. I expect my daughter to scowl at him, but she doesn't. Now if _I_ had said something to that effect I'd probably get something slammed in a door. 

           "I guess so." She relents in a mumble. I almost don't hear her.  "But this whole thing makes me so angry. I don't like being dishonest with him. But I know he would never understand, or respect my feelings if I told him how I feel."  She says bitterly, Yamucha agreeing with her softly. Respect her feelings about WHAT? When has she ever tried to tell me what ever it was that I wouldn't understand? I feel like I'm being convicted before I even commit the crime. "He treats me like a child." She says miserably.

           "You _are_ a child, Marron. A beautiful, precocious child, impulsive, impetuous… You give him good reasons to worry." Yamucha tells her. Something on his face makes her smile, a genuine smile the likes of which I haven't seen on her face for too long.

She looks down on him with soft shining eyes, and lets him wipe away her tears with a tissue. "Can I stay with you?" She asks him in a breathy voice that makes me feel like a long tailed cat in a room full of rockers. Why is she looking at him like that? Like he isn't the next closest thing to an uncle to her. She puts her hands over his on her knees as she looks at him expectantly. Almost like she is holding her breath. I know I am.

"Marron," Yamucha groans softly, "don't ask me this. Don't put me in this position." I can see Marron squeezing his hands as she draws them up her legs and into her lap.

"Please?" She whispers. And I know, like being hit with a ton of bricks. Yamucha has seduced my daughter. He has taken advantage of my sweet, innocent, seventeen year old baby girl. I'll kill him! Death is too good for him. I'll rip him to pieces and then feed him to sharks. 

I'm about to burst in and make good on my threat when my daughter deals me another fatal blow, rooting me to the spot.  "I love you so much, Yamucha. I hate waiting." She whines, pleading with her eyes. 

Oh I've seen that look before, and Kami knows I've never been able to say no to her. So Yamucha gets about a million points when he tells her, "I hate waiting too, darling. But we cannot be lovers until you are eighteen. You know that. We've talked about it. If what we have is truly special and meant to last, and I think that it is. Then it will still be here in nine months when you're ready." 

I hate that I am torn between wanting to kick my best friends ass, and wanting to hug him for showing some goddamn good judgment. I truly hate it when that happens. My attention is snapped back into the room when I see my daughter scowl at him at last. She doesn't like not getting her way; she's like her mother in that regard.

"But I'm ready now! My body has all these feelings, I can't sleep at night anymore. I dream of you, I _ache_ for you…why wait if we really love each other?" She pleads. Grudgingly, I have to admire Yamucha's restraint as my daughter pulls his hands to her breasts. I look away, embarrassed again to be spying on her, even if it's for her own good.

"I know, darling. Your body is mature, but in the eyes of the law you are still just a child. We have to wait. Even though it's love…even though it's hard." He tells her firmly.

"Is it hard, Yamucha?" Her low sultry voice holds a timbre I've never heard her use before. I've heard her mother use it, but one never expects to be present when their daughter is trying to seduce a man. I should break this up, or leave. But I have a kind of perverse, masochistic interest in seeing how Yamucha handles my daughter now that she has pushed the stakes up a notch. I want to see if he can resist her. Yeah Yamucha, give me another reason to turn you into bait.

"You know it is. You know full well what you do to me. You aren't the only one who burns, Marron. But one of us has to be strong and responsible. And unfortunately…that's me." Yamucha tells her, in an equally husky voice. I risk a glance back inside and see they are leaning toward each other, eyes locked. The tension between them is so thick I can feel it all the way out on the balcony. 

"You haven't told me yet today." My daughter whispers, closing her beautiful blue eyes and pursing her lips adorably. I can't see Yamucha's face, but I don't have to. I can hear it in his voice.

"I love you, my sweet Marron. My forever love." Yamucha murmurs. She winds her arms around his neck and falls the last few inches forward into his arms. Kissing him with a passion that tells me it has been built up over a long time. This is no simple infatuation that she has for him, I can tell. I turn away as they fall to the floor in a passionate embrace.

I've known Yamucha forever, and despite everything, I really believe that he will not let things go farther than what I have just witnessed. He's a lot of things, but he does have honor. He keeps his word. I fly up and sit on the roof of Yamucha's apartment, wanting to be close to my daughter in case she needs me while I decide what to do.

There is a huge part of me that recoils from the idea that my daughter has obviously fallen in love with one of my best friends. He's older than I am, and therefore far, far, too old for her.  Why, she'll still be in her prime when he's an old man. And what if they do marry – Dende forbid – what then? What about any children they may have? My daughter could be left alone to raise them, a widow before her time.

Then again, Yamucha and I are fighters. Being strong means that we have a longer life span. God knows I don't feel fifty-two years old. And Yamucha doesn't look fifty-five. But still. I can't help but be concerned about what people will think. Their life won't be an easy one; people will pass judgment on them based on appearances alone. They are completely wrong for each other. It'll never last.

And yet, and yet…I can't help but remember another couple that everyone thought would never last. That was all wrong for each other too. Judgment passed without all the facts. But we've lasted, my wife and I. We proved everyone wrong, even the man who is currently holding my daughter with tenderness and love. And isn't that what everyone wants for their children? Someone to love and cherish them for the spectacular individuals they are? I know that's what I want for Marron. I want her to be happy.

So what if the one who loves her best isn't my first choice? I'm not the one who has to kiss his ugly mug every day. So what if he's older? I am reminded that every year puts more snow on my roof. Yet my wife hasn't changed a day. Only her hair, and her eyes, her eyes have finally lost their frigid arctic blast. She looks like she could be my daughter now…so who am I to judge?

"Here." Yamucha says, and tosses me a beer, which I fumble. I am chagrined I didn't sense him approach. And embarrassed too that I have been caught spying. Yamucha sits cross-legged beside me with his own beer. We sit silently, lost in our own thoughts as we sip our beers and watch the stars. I am reminded of those old days when we were teenagers both training with Kame-sennin. Who knew what long twisted road would bring us here…to this moment? Yet, I can't even grok thinking of him as my future son in law. It makes me cringe. Please Dende, let them elope.

"So was that whole spiel in there just for my benefit?" I ask. Yamucha shakes his head.

"No. I meant every word."  

"She all right?" I ask him with a pointed look. Yamucha swallows his beer and lets out a sigh, looking down at the asphalt shingles of the building.

"She's asleep on the sofa bed. I can send her off to school in the morning if you want to let her sleep." He tells me quietly. I think he is assuming that I am going to pummel him within an inch of his life and snatch my daughter back home. But he's wrong; I can't keep her by controlling her, so I have to keep her by trusting her…trusting them both.

"That's fine. Just tell her to call me in the morning and let me know when she'll be home from school." I tell him, and then take a long pull of my beer. I have to say I enjoy the expression of shock and disbelief on his face. Makes me feel I still have a few surprises up my sleeve. And that makes me feel young again.

"By all rights I ought to turn you into chum." I growl at him. He swallows nervously while I repress a smile. I am proud of him when he straightens his back and meets my eyes steadily. He is brave, and he has honor. I don't care what anyone says about him. He gave his life for me once, and I know in my heart he would do the same again in a heartbeat…for me, or my daughter. He's a good man.

"I intend to marry her. I want you to know that." He says to me. Defiantly. I finish off my beer.

"I certainly hope so. It's about time you gave in and joined the rest of us married folk." I reply and get up. It's about time I head home to my wife. I turn back to Yamucha. "I'm trusting you to keep your word, and wait. If you break her heart I'll forget you're my friend and turn you into fish food." I warn him. After all, it's a father's prerogative to terrorize their daughter's beaus. Which reminds me. "Dinner. Our house. Sunday. Seven o' clock sharp." I bark at him. His pleased smile reaffirms my belief that I'm doing the right thing. I'm ablaze with questions, like how did this all start? How long has it been going on? But I realize I can wait until later for my answers.

I stop by Yamucha's living room to see he has indeed tucked my daughter into the sofa bed. She looks like an angel asleep, like that darling baby I never want to let go of. I lean over and kiss her pale forehead, aware that Yamucha has followed me and is standing at my side.

My daughter opens her eyes slowly and blinks at us, standing together at her bedside and she smiles. "The two men I love the most…" She whispers dreamily. 

"Sleep Chestnut, Yamucha will send you to school in the morning. And when you get home, we'll talk. I think you'll find I understand a lot more than you give me credit for." I whisper back, before kissing her cheek.

She nods sleepily, already sliding back into dreamland. "Love you Papa." She mumbles. As I back away I watch Yamucha lean over and press a soft gentle kiss to her lips. He whispers something to her that makes her nod her head slowly. "I'm glad too." She murmurs and rolls over, already asleep again.

"Goodnight Kuririn." Yamucha tells me and heads down the hall to his bedroom. Shutting the door softly behind him. I hear a soft metallic snick, telling me he is locking his door against any temptation. I admire his self-control; I can't say I would have the same if it were me in his place.

I let myself out the sliding glass door and fly toward home. I feel lighter than I have in a very long time. There will be no more secrets between Marron and I anymore. Of that I am certain. Peace and happiness will be restored to our household and our lives.

Just as I suspected they might.

OWARI


End file.
